Page 82 of Beloved Enemy
Now, Charlotte’s heart ached as she watched the torment in Reid’s eyes. His pain ran deeper than the threat to her life—it was the betrayal of his own blood that crushed him. His sister’s treachery weighed on him in the form of rage, a violent fury to which there was nothing to compare. He seethed and burned with it, it seemed, his nostrils flared, and his hands fisted, the rage impotent at the moment while Fiona presently maintained the upper hand.
Charlotte’s heart broke for Reid. The stinging pain in her neck where Fiona’s blade had already sliced was nothing compared to the pain of watching Reid’s agony. She felt Reid's fear, his desperation to save her, and the guilt that gripped him so tightly. And in that moment, all Charlotte wanted was to ease his suffering, even if she couldn’t quite save herself. She didn’twant him feeling guilty for having doubted her. She wanted him to know she trusted him and tried to convey to him in her steady gaze that she had every confidence in his ability to turn this dire situation around. She’d seen him in action, she’d witnessed him in a killing rage; she knew what he was capable of.
Soon enough, however, Charlotte became distracted. Reid curtly demanded Charlotte’s release and Fiona screamed for Lachlan to come to her, the knife slicing again with the shaky rigidity of Fiona’s desperation. But Charlotte’s gaze was diverted by a movement beyond Reid.
The Nicholson captain, standing behind one of the horses, impatiently wrenched a bow from another soldier’s hand. His movements were sharp and he nocked an arrow and face the tower, and in that instant, Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat.
Tavish hated her, she’d always believed. He would kill her now. He must be part of the plot against Reid as well. Her thoughts were frantic, irrational; she only knew what she saw, Tavish seeming to take aim directly at her.
His black eyes locked on her.
Charlotte blanched.
She closed her eyes, and willed peace to come even as she imagined the arrow tearing through her, ending the madness.
At the last second, she opened her eyes, frantic to have one final glimpse of Reid.
What she saw felt like a moment suspended in time, everything moving as if through water. Reid stood with his feet planted, his entire body coiled with tension, roaring at Fiona with a voice so raw it sent a shudder through her. His face was contorted in fury and fear, veins bulging at his neck and temple, the rawness of his desperation carved into every line of his features.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, helpless rage radiating from him, and Charlotte’s heart twisted in her chest. This was the man she might have loved, if only they’d been given the chance. In another life, in another time, could he have loved her too?
The thought flashed through her mind as her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard. His pain was so visible, his agony laid bare. Her last glimpse of him—Reid, the man who’d distrusted her, pushed her away, yet stood now like a warrior ready to tear the world apart to save her. She’d seen glimpses of that caring beneath the hard shell, and now she could only wonder what might have been, had he let himself soften for her.
What might have been...
The sharp whistle of the arrow pierced the air, and as if in slow-motion, Charlotte let her eyes drift closed again.
A scream came, but it was not her voice.
And real-time chaos returned. Charlotte’s eyes opened just as Fiona crumpled to the ground, her grip on Charlotte tightening so that they both fell. Pain flared in Charlotte’s scalp where Fiona wrenched at her hair, but the searing pain of an arrow she had expected never came. She fought frantically against Fiona’s hold, turning and squirming, catching sight of the arrow, lodged in Fiona’s shoulder, and the look of horror on the woman’s face.
Rough hands seized Charlotte from behind. Bodies converged on Fiona as Charlotte was wrenched away. Before she could even process it, she knew that she was in Reid’s arms, that he was pulling her away. The chaos blurred around her. Her gaze darted wildly across the courtyard. She saw Seumas tackle Lachlan to the ground, joined quickly by several others, their scuffle a whirlwind of flailing limbs and shouts. A deafening din of noise prevailed but all Charlotte knew was the sound of Reid’s heartbeat against her, pounding like a lifeline.
I wasn’t ready to die.
She didn’t realize she’d spoken these words aloud until she heard and felt Reid’s voice against her hair. “Ye’ll nae die, Charlotte. Nae while I live.”
The peace that enveloped her was both exhilarating and soothing.
Clinging to Reid, Charlotte closed her eyes once more and wept.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Four days had passed since the truth of Fiona and Lachlan's betrayal had come crashing down around Kingswood.
He’d yet to come to terms with it—his own sister had betrayed him. Fiona, whom he had protected and defended, even when she had not deserved it. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound he had ever sustained. If he couldn’t trust her, what did that say about his own judgment?
He questioned everything now. Every decision, every instinct. He had been blind, had failed to see what had been right in front of him, the truth about Fiona obscured by years of sibling loyalty, and his devotion to duty, protecting the Nicholsons.
And Charlotte—he had doubted her, questioned everything about her though it appeared now she had never lied to him. She’d told him her impossible truth, and rather than believe her, he’d believed her a liar, had labeled her a spy.
Could he even trust his own instincts anymore?
He feared doubt would stay with him, that it would eat away at the ready confidence he’d always relied on. He was the chief, a commander, a man who had to make decisions that affected lives, and yet, he had missed the most personal betrayal. How could he be sure of anything again?
The weight of it pressed down on him. It wasn’t just about Fiona and Lachlan—it was about his entire sense of self. He’d been so sure of everything, so certain of his judgments, and now... he wasn’t sure of anything at all. He wondered if he could ever truly trust his own intuition again.
He rode away from the training field where Tavish and Ruairidh supervised the daily exercises with the army and toward the village, heading toward the keep.
